Contents:

·         Cat

·         Caterpillar

·         Christmas When

·         Frankie Wankie

·         Junira Nations

·         Approaching Twenty

·         Mná

·         Joan Maguire

·         My Love Bites

·         Lily White Breast

·         Alan Mullally’s Song (Now I’m Leaving)

·         The Hero

·         Kim Bassinger’s Diet

·         Statue

·         The Great God Pan

·         Worms

·         Spare a Thought

·         Resolution

·         Jimmy Loves Mary

·         Books

·         In Slattery’s

·         Krunchy and Milady

·         The Da

·         The Great Six-O

·         My Garden

·         Female Modes of Dress (or The Miniskirt)

·         Good Morning

·         The Dance in the Village Hall

·         Typing Section

·         Vacant Mood

·         Do You Yen for a Feel

·         Obsessed

·         Silver Wedding

·         Corrakit

·         The Civil Servant

·         The New Daughter of Houlihan

·         Mayo in July

·         Home Computers

·         Lewinsky

·         Jacussy

·         Tit Shaking

·         Paddy Macaroni

·         Hour on a Bean

The Outrageous Poems of Krunchie Killeen:

VACANT MOOD

Unlike that other poet,

When on a couch I lie,

It is not golden daffodils

That flash before my inward eye.

It is not golden daffodils;

It's brazen birds, so rude.

But, from this moment, I'm resolved:

No more shall they intrude.

Should sexy scenes present themselves

Across the window of my mind,

Decisively; yes, like a flash,

Down will crash the roller blind.

I'll call to mind great hurling matches,

Sportsmen battling for a ball.

Though heads be split and knuckles shattered,

Here, there's no place for sex at all.

But no! O no! How can it be?

What show of harlotry is this?

The field's aswarm with wicked women,

Skirts blowing high and bobbing tits.

Away, away from these tormentors,

To scenes of calm and rest I'll turn;

In sweet solitude I'll see me lie

At ease, beneath a golden sun.

Good grief! And is there no relief?

Where're I turn, must they intrude?

For, stretched out on the sand around me,

Beauties bathing in the nude.

Turn eyes away and contemplate

The rushing waters of the sea.

There to swim and seem to feel

The water washing over me.

And that saucy, sexy swimmer,

With seduction in her eye,

Will never catch me. To be sure,

From her allure I'll quickly fly.

But, but this, this is too much,

For, as I flee your woman's charms,

I find, by gum, that I've swum

Into another trollop's arms.

Stop! Stop! The scene must change:

Bring on the golden daffodils.

But, Christ, who is this naked Jane

Who trips across the vales and hills?

What now? What now? What can I do?

More literature I'll call to mind...

Now, here, at last, is a solution,

In certain words of Oscar Wilde.

Against all the resources of the mind

Temptation doesn't yield a whit.

The only way to end temptation,

As Wilde says, is to yield to it.

Copyright

You may copy the poems for your own amusement, but you may not distribute or perform any poem publicly or for reward until you have obtained my consent.

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Now Visit Krunchies’ Verse Blog to view his current oeuvre. 

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